


Eristic

by Lux Remanet (orphan_account)



Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, based on that fucking dress, lightis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lux%20Remanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because she's irresistible when she's angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eristic

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this headcanon](http://stephanythedramaqueen.tumblr.com/post/112251311941/light-and-noct-having-hot-make-up-session-bc-they) which was inspired by this [internet crippling post](http://swiked.tumblr.com/post/112073818575/guys-please-help-me-is-this-dress-white-and).

A photograph that Regina George of _Mean Girls_   could not be faulted for pronouncing: ‘the ugliest effing dress I’ve ever seen’ being shoved into Noctis' face as a greeting—instead of a kiss on the cheek one couldn’t be faulted for expecting after not seeing his girlfriend for almost a month—was the exact sort of ‘welcome back’ only a rare number of people that included Lightning Farron could get away with.  

 _Missed you too,_ he almost quipped, until he noticed the set of her jaw, and the thousand yard stare in her eyes. His gaze, that had been longingly focused on her lips, reluctantly—but intelligently and dutifully— went back to the dress. The  _ugly_   dress that he was forced to look at instead of the sexy navy blue stunner she presently had on.  Suppressing a sigh, he hid the exasperation in his voice and in his best attempt at sounding ‘invested’ he said:

“Is this for Serah’s wedding or—”

“No,” she cut in, expression still deadpan, and Noctis breathed a silent sigh of relief.  He didn’t think any corsage he’d have to buy for the ceremony could be made to match its hideousness.  But then his confusion returned.    

“So why are you so—”

“Just— _shut up,”_  Lightning snapped, “and tell me what color it is.”

Uh-oh.  Noctis knew that tone of voice very well.  For her benefit he feigned a look of deep concentration; like that shit was rocket science.  

“Definitely white and gold, right?” she said, not two seconds later.

_Nope._

Noctis had always known dating someone from another universe was going to be difficult; that there would be cultural nuances and customs they’d learn and argue about—and Etro, did they do an insane amount of it—but what he hadn’t known, what he hadn't even thought to expect, was how perversely  _fun_  arguing was.    
Well, with _her_ , anyway.  Cor was an absolute nightmare.

Lightning despised losing,  _especially_  to him.   _So competitive, goddamn._   She always had to have the final say.  Needed it, almost.  It would have been easier to agree with her and then go on their dinner date as planned, but for a shit lord like him who _loved_ the way her nose crinkled; the tight line her lips made as she squared her shoulders; the rising octave and volume of her voice as she struggled to keep her cool; going from irritated to unbelievably flustered and red-faced as he pirouetted and  _pounced_  on  _every one_ of her nerves, the temptation to get back at her for making their reunion as romantic as a cold, dead fish….

…was nigh impossible to resist.  

“Well?” Lightning crossed her arms.

There was, Noctis was sure, a special place in Hell for people like him.

Slowly he stood.  He handed her the photograph and as he passed her, making his way for the kitchen, he braced himself and said, in an  _incredibly_  bored tone:

“Definitely blue and black.”

“Bullshit,” she followed him into the kitchen and glared as he poured himself an ice-cold strawberry lemonade.  A lesser person would have cowered in fear; Noctis leaned back against the counter and took a long drink without breaking eye-contact.  

“Blue and black.” He knew if he smiled she’d  _know_ , and then he’d be a dead man. He lifted the glass again to his lips, preparing to finish it when it was snatched out of his hand.  “Hey that’s…”

Lightning drained the glass to the last drop, and all but slammed it on the counter beside him. In the same movement she stepped forward, eyes deadly as she got into his face, holding up the blasted photograph:

_“Look.  Carefully.”_

He obliged her, even activated his Sight for good measure, but the answer would have been the same _even if_ he had seen what she had:

“Blue and black.”

“It’s white and gold!” she burst out,  _clearly_   incensed and close enough for him to smell, almost  _taste_  the strawberry on her lips.  Excitement beginning to mount, he curled his fingers into fists at his sides in an effort to keep his hands to himself.  But it wasn’t easy, especially with the way she was looking at him.

He gestured to his eyes, still activated. “Light, you know what this means, right? These eyes never lie—”

“And what; that’s supposed to make  _you_  right, all of a sudden?” Lightning demanded testily.

He disagreed with the sentiment, but instead of voicing this aloud, he gave her a non-committal shrug.   The ambiguous response, he knew, was only going to rile her up even more.  She hated fence sitters.

She took another step, not even registering that  _their bodies were now touching—and_ that he was  _as hard as a diamond_ —and scowled.  

“I’ve met Etro too, for your information,” she said witheringly, in the deliciously dangerous low tone that he had been waiting for.  ”And I’ll have you know…” She prodded his chest, enunciating every word, every thud of her finger against his skin a chisel that whittled away at the little control he had left.  

Until finally…

 

“…so I know for a fact that—”

 

…he moved.

* * *

 

Lightning let out a startled gasp as she was suddenly shoved backward, stumbling until Noctis pressed her bodily against the wall.  She dropped the photograph, all coherent thought leaving her, save the instinct to reciprocate as his lips crashed roughly into hers.  One of his hands slid to the back of her neck, holding her in place as his tongue forced its way past her lips.  

Tasting.

Dominating.  

 _Po_ _ssessing_.  

Lightning fisted her hands into the lapels of his jacket, and moaned into his mouth as their tongues met and mated, hanging on for dear life as desire ignited low in her belly.  He broke away suddenly, and she felt his smirk drag across her cheek.

“It’s blue and black,” he murmured huskily into her ear, while her breath and brain desperately tried to play catch up.  Not bothering to give her a chance to answer, he pulled her tighter against him so that her breasts pressed against his chest, kissing her harder.  Cleverly smothering her protests, filling the apartment with her soft moans instead.

 _Son of a bitch!_  Lightning thought.  He’d been planning this!   _I should have known._ But before she could act on the realization, the idea flitted away (or rather she had purposefully let it slip from her fingers).  The kiss—more accurately;  _barrage_  of kisses that followed were frenzied, and glorious: so completely unlike him and yet so utterly consuming, to the point where she didn’t notice his nimble fingers: slyly unzipping her dress until the cool air hit her skin.  Seduction with purpose, _so him_ , she knew, but it  _worked_.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and glared (or _tried_  to).  “White-gold,” she murmured stubbornly as the chiffon pooled softly at her feet.

He smiled, eyes dark and intense as his gaze raked greedily over her body.  “White-gold,” he agreed, finally.  He bent his head, and continued where they had left off, kissing her as he swept an arm under her knees and began carrying her to the bedroom. "Or maybe it's a brownish gold..."

_"Asshole."_


End file.
